


we could wait for forever, but forever doesn't feel too far

by margaretsreplacement



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Comfort, Comfort Food, Deke discovers the holy food trinity:, F/M, Family, Fluff, Late night snacks, Twinkies, and the Sandwich, canon compliant up to 5x13, zima - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaretsreplacement/pseuds/margaretsreplacement
Summary: Despite his mother’s warning, and the fresh image of a Kree spear blooming red on her chest, Deke is determined to make this work. Fitz and Simmons are quite literally the only blood relations he has left (until his mother is born, but he is trying very hard not to think about that) on this sky-covered, orange-scented earth and he is not about to give that up.Or, the one where Deke is awkward, Jemma is confused, and Fitz is less of a grumpy gramps.





	we could wait for forever, but forever doesn't feel too far

**Author's Note:**

> My writing muse struck me with such a vengeance the other night that I couldn't sleep and that literally never happens so I thought I'd take advantage of it while I could. Then I jumped on the bandwagon and wrote a fluffy piece about Deke (because it seems like next week is going to be quite angsty, so I'm overdosing on fluff to compensate). Hope you enjoy!

Despite what everyone else seems to think, Deke is smart, just not in the traditional way that people from a perfectly uncracked world seem to view intelligence. In the past (well, the future— he can’t think about it too hard or else his head starts to hurt) a high IQ is what got one killed. Knowing how to lay low, play both sides, survive, _that_ was what allowed someone to live long enough to be considered wise. Unfortunately, Deke is starting to come to the conclusion that street smarts don’t do much good when it comes to meeting one’s traditionally genius grandparents who are intent on saving the world but might have also played a part in destroying it. And who also happened to be around his own age, which is an unsettling detail to say the least.

Grandparents weren’t unheard of on the Lighthouse, but they were definitely harder to come by than his annual birthday orange. Deke had thought about his own grandparents very little over the years since they had died long before he was born and any stories of them had passed away with his mother, but there was the occasional moment where he would sit and imagine what their world must of been like, how it must of felt to see it all come crumbling down.

Now he finds himself in that world, watching it crumble right alongside his very _real,_ very _clueless_ grandparents who know nothing of their future daughter, much less the future grandson who is stealing glances of them from over his tablet. Well, Daisy’s tablet. She had given him a blank stare and shoved it into his hands with a “please don’t make me regret this” and “avoid the cat videos” when he asked her about how family relations worked in the 21st century. In hindsight, asking the girl raised by scary nuns was probably not the best idea, but even Deke can tell that everyone on team S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t exactly the norm when it comes to relationships.

That is where Deke really struggles. Not with accepting the fact that he’d unwittingly attended his own grandparent’s wedding and inadvertently created a bootstrap paradox, not with coming to terms that his grandfather is a bit of a jerk at times (that actually confirmed the family relation to Deke more than anything), not that he can’t unsee his mother’s smile each time Jemma laughs or her blue eyes everytime Fitz rolls his. No, Deke’s problem comes with how exactly he’s supposed to form a relationship with two people who seem to find him a time-traveling toddler at worst and a rambling nuisance at best. Granted, things seem to have improved over the past few days with Fitz finally accepting that Deke can be of use with Gravitonium. The snark between the two has started to come more from playful competition than from frustration (at least, Deke thinks so; he hadn’t yet gotten a hang of distinguishing one grumpy Scottish comment from another). Plus, Deke has taken to calling Fitz “gramps” the past few days, an inside joke that has been surprisingly cathartic as well as provides a good coverup for the grandparent-related, foot-in-mouth comments that are sure to escape at one point or another.

And there is no way on this green, pre-quaked earth that he is about to tell them. He doesn’t even want to consider how many eyerolls and head examinations _that_ conversation will earn him.

The internet, despite it’s somewhat mythical reputation in the future, turns out to be extremely disappointing when it comes to finding answers. Most searches only result in pictures of wrinkles and wispy gray hair and Deke is as close to understanding what he is supposed to do as he is to trying every consumable product in the storage room (a noble cause in which he shall resume once the fear rift has been dealt with).

Despite his mother’s warning, and the fresh image of a Kree spear blooming red on her chest, Deke is determined to make this work. Fitzsimmons is quite literally the only blood relation he has left (until his mother is born, but he is trying _very_ hard not to think about that) on this sky-covered, orange-scented earth and he is not about to give that up.

Deke looks up from the tablet to find himself alone, the rest of the team having migrated from the room to turn in for the night. A quick glance at the time tells him that it is past midnight, and he tucks the device under his arm to head for the kitchen. His last snack run had been over two hours ago, and he isn’t one to let food go uneaten.

 

* * *

 

 “Deke, you’re still awake?”

Jemma’s lilting voice startles him and Deke slams the tablet face-down on the table with a loud _bang._ “Nothing!” He squeaks, and although searching for the identity behind the mysterious chef of Hostess isn’t the most incriminating thing he’s done, there’s something about Jemma’s tone that reminds him of when his mother would catch him out of his bunk after-hours. He clears his throat, but it does little to disperse the rock that seems to be permanently lodged there. “I mean, there’s not exactly windows in this place so who’s to say if it is late or not? And shouldn’t _you_ be in bed? With Fitz. In the dark…” Deke flinches, trying very hard not to hit himself in the head for his own stupidity while simultaneously scrubbing away the images his own words have brought to mind. 

“We’ve been monitoring the rift, but it’s one in the morning,” Jemma says, stopping her path to the stove as she takes in the empty Zima bottle and pile of Twinkie wrappers that had fallen to the floor from the force of the tablet. “Please tell me you’ve eaten more than that.”

Deke scoffs. “Well, yeah. Of course I have.” He leans back against the table, only to yelp as the discarded tablet slips beneath his hand and he wobbles backwards. Jemma steps forward but halts when Deke manages to steady himself. “I found these things called Lays. They taste funny after a while but they come in a can and you can stack them into little towers. I mean, what’s up with that? It’s like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to be food or a toy so they just made them both.” 

Jemma sighs and makes her way to the fridge. “I understand that you haven’t had access to the best diet in the past, Deke, but that food is junk. I swear, you’re just like Fitz back at the academy. It took me two years to convince him that Pop Tarts aren't an acceptable dinner.”

The kitchen suddenly seems a lot warmer despite the cold metal and concrete walls that surround them. Jemma starts pulling items from the fridge to place on the counter, and Deke hopes that she can’t see the bead of sweat that is making its way down his neck. “Er, just like Fitz. Right.” Deke lets out a nervous chuckle and brings his hand to scratch at his beard, before he realizes what he is doing and he yanks it back down to his side. “Not sure why you said that. I mean, I haven’t even seen a Pop Tart before. So we’re not the same, really. Not at all.”

Jemma seems unperturbed by Deke’s rambling, but he clamps his mouth shut before he can spew any unwanted secrets about his genealogy and instead watches Jemma place what he thinks is tomatoes on a slice of bread. They sit in silence for a few moments, and Deke is suddenly overcome with the desire to know everything about the woman in front of him. Jemma Simmons. His grandmother. The woman who told his mother bedtime stories of the great scientists of the past, which she in turn passed on to Deke. But Deke hasn’t exactly been subtle the past couple days, and people will start to take notice of his seeming obsession with the two S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists if he isn’t careful, so he tucks away his questions of childhood pets and family vacations for another day. “So, um, the academy. That’s a school, right? Was it really as bad as every said it was, where you couldn’t stand for hours and had to stay up all night to work, without pay?”

With a soft snort, Jemma looks up and shakes her head. “All-nighters only happened because people valued their parties over getting things done on time. It was a lot of trivial work, yes, but despite Fitz’s complaints it wasn’t all bad. That’s where we met, actually, and–” She walks over to Deke and places a colorful arrangement in front of him. “–that was where the sandwich was born, so I don’t think Fitz really has much room to complain.”

Curious, Deke lifts the concoction from the plate and gives it a sniff. “Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella. Well, in theory. I didn't have a lot to work with, but it's Fitz’s favorite,” Jemma explains, tucking a piece of hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “It was the only healthy thing I could get him to consistently eat for a while, and if you really insist on consuming garbage, this should at least give your body some substantial nutrients.”

His chest suddenly feels tight at her words, though Deke can't place why. Maybe it's because it has been so long since someone has been concerned for his health, or maybe it is because he is holding his grumpy grandfather’s favorite sandwich in his hands. Or maybe he has stayed up too late and his body is starting to shut down. Yeah, that’s probably it.

He can feel Jemma’s gaze as he takes an experimental bite. “It’s supposed to have my homemade pesto aioli, but as you can imagine things are a bit limited in a survival bunker so I’m afraid you’ll have to make due with a substitute,” Jemma says. She frowns as Deke’s eyes well up with tears. “Deke, are you okay?”

The sandwich is a little plain, nothing like the hamburger he’s been craving for days or the remaining packages of Twinkies stuffed in his coat pocket, but Deke is pretty sure it is the best thing he has ever tasted. His grandmother had made this, for him. He lets out a sniffle, and Jemma hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder, but he waves her off and continues to consume the sandwich through his tears in an impressive but somewhat messy display. Just as he finishes off the last bite, Jemma tries again.

“Are you sure you're okay? Not hurt or in pain? Your shoulder hasn't been giving you any trouble, has–” she's cut off as Deke wraps her in a hug and burrows his face into her shoulder.

“I'm fine. It's just, no one has ever made me a sandwich before,” he chokes, and although a good part of him writhes in embarrassment (he makes a mental note that Zima and snack cakes are not a good combination in the early morning hours), another part wants to just close his eyes and get lost in the tenderness and love he didn't know he missed until this moment.

“Oh, well you're quite welcome,” Jemma says after a pause, patting Deke on the back with the one hand that isn't trapped by his arm. Even through the thick leather of his jacket, he's sure he can feel the cool solidness of her wedding ring.

A cough from the doorway causes Deke to jolt away and swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. Fitz hovers, eyes darting back and forth between Jemma and Deke with raised eyebrows, and as he opens his mouth to speak Deke panics.

“I swear I wasn't coming on to her!” he nearly yells, and Fitz’s eyebrows raise even higher. “I know you two are married and even if you weren't I would never...I mean, _gross._ ” Deke shudders at the thought, but his eyes widen as his words catch up to him. He rounds on Jemma, whose amused expression does nothing to ease him. “Not that _you_ are gross. Quite the opposite, actually. You're smart and caring and pretty and I mean that in the most platonic way possible. Very very platonic. So platonic that we could be related—which we’re not! Just that–”

The firm clasp of Fitz's hand on his shoulder saves him from digging himself even deeper, and if Deke wasn't so afraid of his grandfather thinking he was hitting on his grandmother, he would feel relieved. “Deke, calm down. I know. I've been here for a few minutes. And although we’re going to have a talk about you partaking in the sandwich without me”—he gives Jemma a pointed look, to which she replies with an exasperated roll of her eyes so familiar it makes Deke’s chest hurt—“I know you didn't mean anything by it.”

“Okay! Good!” Deke says, injecting more enthusiasm than needed into his voice. He steps back, hand fumbling behind him as he searches blindly for his tablet. “Well, then I'll just go catch some Z’s and let you two–”

“Actually, I wanted to apologize.” Fitz says, and Deke freezes. “For um, the way I've been acting the past few days. I get a little snappy when I'm stressed and I know it's no excuse, but I just thought I'd let you know that.” He sighs, dragging his eyes from where they had been focused on the ceiling, mouth twitching at the corners as he sees Jemma’s beaming smile before he looks at Deke head-on. “And I don't think you’re an idiot. Most of the time. If there's any way I can make it up to you…”

Fitz trails off, and although Deke has every intention to accept the apology and tell him that no repayment is needed, he pauses. He’s an opportunist, after all; old habits die hard, and he's not about to pass up an opportunity to pester the old man.

“We never did get to play catch, and the spare glove is still in storage.”

Fitz’s face falls into a deadpan expression, and Deke can almost hear the exasperated groan that he is obviously trying to hold back. Jemma grabs his hand and lightly squeezes it, and Fitz forces a smile.

“Alright. Tomorrow, when we're not in the ungodly hours of the morning, we can play catch.” Deke is able to hold back pumping his fist into the air, but he does very little to hide the gloating smile that creeps on to his face. “But,” Fitz says. “If you want to know a _real_ sport, you should learn football.”

“Wait, I know that one! That's where they wear helmets and crash into each other, right?” Deke says excitedly; he might not of been 100% positive over what a computer was until a few days ago, but he isn't completely clueless.

This time Fitz really does groan, running both hands over his face before he pivots and strolls out of the room, muttering something about “bloody Americans”. Jemma smiles and lightly pats Deke’s arm with a soft “goodnight” before she follows.

Deke stands there a few moments longer, watching the weak fluorescent light glint off the scattered packaging on the floor. If someone were to walk in at that moment and see the dumb grin he is sporting, Deke doesn't think he could even bring himself to care. A sandwich and an apologetic game of catch. They weren't much, Deke thinks, and he still has no idea what he's supposed to do, but it's at least a step in the right direction, and maybe that is enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Where Your Life Begins" by Halcyon Skies. I'm also on tumblr as margarets-replacement, where I reblog a lot of things and make overly-long tags. So that's fun.


End file.
